


Written In The Stars

by IntoTheWilds



Series: Through The Stones [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, Outlander
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 01:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheWilds/pseuds/IntoTheWilds
Summary: After a case goes wrong Spencer ends up in the last place he would have ever guessed, because after all time travel wasn't supposed to be possible!





	Written In The Stars

 

If asked how his day had gone so irrevocably to hell, Spencer could it no way honestly answer. It had started off with the best coffee on his block, only to end up with him running for his life from a blood thirsty unsub twice his size with a penchant for burning people alive and a whole lot of rage. Brambles reached out, clawing at him with their gnarled fingers of old bark, as they left their mark. Bleeding from several scratches, every tree looking the same, Spencer stumbled into a huge clearing and tried to catch his breath, matted curls spilling about a sharp angular face, hazel eyes wide from terror.

Straining, he tried desperately to locate any sign of the unsub after him, but all he could hear was the frantic beats of his own heart—and something else.

Buzzing.

At first, Spencer thought a bee’s hive must have been near by, only to realise the sound was coming from a large rock a few feet to the left of him. But that was _ludicrous!_ Stone didn’t buzz and yet despite his current life threatening situation or the illogical possibility, Spencer couldn’t help but walk toward it.

The buzzing grew more insistent, almost like a call of sorts, urging him forward. Everything else faded away, from the ache in his tired muscles, to the heat on his bruised skin. Reaching out toward the rock, Spencer felt a rush of energy and then there was nothing.

* * *

 

Consciousness returned with a bang and Spencer had barely any time to absorb his surroundings before the sound of a cocked gun had him whirling around. Of all the things he expected to see, this wasn’t one of them. He was surrounded on all sides by Native American’s in clothing that looked as if it had come off the set of an old movie riddled with red coats that had been altered to the tastes of their new owners. Their weapons faired no better. Dating back to well over two centuries—Of course, that didn’t mean they couldn’t hurt him.

“Easy now,” Spencer placated, eyes darting from face to face. “I mean no harm.”

Silence. Their only response was silence and yet it was deafening. Despite the brief lapse in awareness he recognised where he was and yet at the same time, he didn’t. The forest was some how...well...more. More trees, more wilderness, just more and in the distance Spencer could hear animals and running water close by, but no cars.

What the hell was going on?!

The disgruntled whickering of a horse nearby left him jumping and that was enough to finally catch their attention. Cries of outrage rippled through them in a language Spencer could only understand in snippets, but not enough to communicate. The Iroquoian words wrung in his ears and what he could decipher, he knew were insults as well as the term he knew meant _white man._

Heart pounding, Spencer watched them close in and with nothing else to do, he ran.

They pursued him. He had hoped they wouldn’t, but that had been wishful thinking. The trees were harder to manoeuvrer now, the earth less travelled, which made absolutely no sense! Gone were the easy paths and the familiar trails. Fear pushed him on, driving him forward, terror growing thicker in his lungs, the closer the men got to him. Spencer could hear their warrior calls, the thunderous beat of hooves against the earth and when they opened fire the ear-splitting sound of gunfire and the acrid stench of the powder were hard to miss.

Tripping over roots, clothes snagging on brambles, Spencer cried out when a hot streak of fire lit across his left calf. They had hit him! By sheer force of will he kept running, knowing the excruciating pain was a small price to pay if it meant he wasn’t caught.

Bursting from the trees, Spencer came to a jarring halt by the edge of a cliff. A roar in his ears, the crashing sounds of a running river just below, he knew he was out of options. Rather than have them run him down, the FBI Agent gathered his courage and jumped.

* * *

 

_*...*...*...*_

* * *

 

Exhausted was one word to describe how Brianna was feeling. Even after two months of getting the hang of being a parent, she was still finding it hard to adapt to the whole broken sleep that her son caused nightly and yet, she wouldn’t change it for the world. Sat atop her horse, Jeremiah sleeping soundly against her, secured in cosy wrap, Brianna followed alongside her husband Roger, her parents, Jaime and Claire just ahead. The aura about them all was thick with dread, the orders given mere days ago, concerning one Murtagh Fitzgibbons not easily ignored.

“Are ye okay?”

Startled from her brooding, Brianna smiled over at Roger. “I’m fine, just a lot going on in my head.”

“I ken what ye mean,” Roger replied softly, mindful of others listening. “Dinna how yer father plans to get out of this mess, but from what I’ve heard of the man, he’ll manage it somehow.”

His words were enough to stay her worries a little. Reaching out, Brianna gave his hand an affectionate squeeze, mindful of her sleeping boy snuggled to her bosom. When he pressed a kiss quickly to her palm, it warmed her heart. Almost reluctantly she let go and the sound of rushing water had Brianna twisting in her saddle. They weren’t far from Fraser’s ridge now, they were almost home!

“Jaime!”

The horses all startled at Claire’s sudden shout. Thankfully, well trained, none of them tossed their riders. Getting his horse under control, Jaime couldn’t help but snap, “Christ, Sassenach! What in blazes are ye yellin’ about?!”

Rather than answer, Claire had already leapt from her horse. Stunned and concerned, Jaime followed suit and tore after his wife. Roger was right behind, Brianna remaining with their sleeping son. Clearing the tree line, it was easy to see what had drawn her attention.

“My God!” Roger gasped. “Bree! Throw me yer mother’s medical bag!”

Claire fell to her knees at the river bank. Drenched, covered in dark mud, she had almost missed it, but it was obvious now she was looking at a man roughly her own age. Through the mess she caught the faint whiff of blood, saw it seeping from a wound in his leg and filthy as he was, it was hard to know just how bad the injury list ran. Fumbling for his wrist, she searched for the tell tale sign of life.

“Sweet Jesus Christ,” Jaime cursed from beside her. “Is the boy alive, Sassenach?”

“Barely,” Claire replied with a relieved breath. “He’s been shot at least once from what I can see. We need to get him back to our cabin.” A sudden glint of something had Claire frowning. Carefully she lifted his right arm and wiped away the debris, shock washing over her. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

“Claire?” Jaime prodded. “What is it, Sassenach?”

Twisting the stranger’s arm, Claire showed her husband the wristwatch hung loosely about his slender wrist. “A wristwatch...Something that won’t be seen till the eighteen hundreds!” _And certainly not one like this!_ “He’s like me...A time traveller!”

“The stones,” Roger blurted out, returning with Claire’s healing supplies. “There is a set of those stones nearby here. I saw them when those blasted Indians had me walkin’ like a dog all the way to New York.”

“He must have come through there and might have had a run in with those same natives.” Taking her bag, Claire swiftly ran triage. She patched him up enough to get him back to the cabin without him bleeding out from the injury to his leg.

Between Roger and Jaime they both got him back to the horses.

The boy never made a sound.

* * *

 

_*...*...*...*_

* * *

 

Spencer woke to warmth and a mild thumping in his head. The kind that came when he overexerted himself during a case. Head muddled, it took a time to reassemble what had happened and when he did, Spencer clawed his way to consciousness and his surroundings were not what he expected. Instead of a sterile hospital room, he had been set up in a nest of blankets, next to the crackling of a fire inside a large stone hearth. Hazel eyes darted about drinking in each corner of the homely cabin and just like the Native Americans, it was a scene from a time long before he was born.

Shifting, Spencer bit back a gasp. Pain engulfed him, stabbing him in his left leg, almost enough to knock him out. But having been shot before, he pushed back until his breathing levelled out and he was barely aware of it.

He had been cleaned, even his hair and his clothes had been removed and replaced with a shirt that looked as if it had fallen right out of the sixteenth century! This was insane! Had he stumbled upon a village who lived outside all modern means?

“You’re awake!” Claire saw him jump at the sound of her voice. He twisted and scrambled back the best he could, eyes wide and she hurried forward trying to stop him. “Don’t do that! You’ll rip your stitches and undo all my hard work!” Her harsh words only forced him back further, a blanket wrapped protectively about his slim frame. Was he not in pain? It was as if he didn’t notice! Trying for a gentler tone, she asked, “What’s your name?”

There was no danger and from what she was saying, she had treated his injuries. From her old style, he was almost afraid to ask how she had done it and just hoped he wasn’t at risk of loosing his leg. “Spencer,” he finally answered, voice a little hoarse. “My name is Spencer Reid.”

American, Claire noted immediately, but not a state she was overly familiar with. At a guess, Nevada maybe? “I’m Claire Fraser.” She introduced politely. “You’re in my home at Fraser Ridge. We found you injured not far from here and brought you here for treatment.”

The name and the place sounded familiar, but Spencer was honestly too exhausted to figure out from where. Probably from one of the thousands of History books he had read over the years. But that made no sense...Unless he tossed logic out of the window and accepted what he was seeing. Heart pounding in his chest he asked probably the most illogical thing that had ever left his mouth, “When am I, Claire Fraser?”

The question shocked Claire, that and the calmness in which he asked it. Still, she answered him. No point in pretending. “It’s the year seventeen sixty-nine.”

Holy Hell, he had truly pulled a Doctor Who! Sagging against the wall at his back, Spencer could scarcely take it in. “Two hundred and fifty years back in time!” He rasped out. “T-That’s not possible!” And yet, here he was.

“You’re from the next millennia?!” Claire blurted out shocked. He was from a time even further ahead of hers!

“From your tone I’m guessing I’m not the only one to end up in the wrong century,” Spencer said a little amused, “Care to explain what the hell is going on?”

“I can,” Claire assured him, “But in the morning. You need more rest.”

Spencer wanted to protest, wanted to panic and rage against the complete insanity of it all, but his eyelids were beginning to droop. Claire gently coaxed him back to the nest of covers and he let his dreams have him.

* * *

 

_*...*...*...*_

* * *

 

The next time Spencer woke it was to the sound of songbirds outside, the smell of food cooking and a smiling chubby baby sitting right by his head. Too used to JJ’s sons, the second boy having just as an odd way of waiting for him to wake, Spencer wasn’t the least bit startled. Instead, he smiled warmly in greeting. “Hey there.”

With a squeal of excitement, the baby happily scuttled closer on his padded bottom and patted Spencer on the cheek with a loud declaration of, “Ba!”

Chuckling at his antics, Spencer carefully sat up, keeping the infant from toppling over. “I’m Spencer.”

“Ba!”

“Germain Fraser! Don’t be pesterin’ the poor man!”

Spencer jumped for the third time in as many hours and turned to see a young blonde woman coming in from outside, some kindling in her arms for the fire. “He’s alright.” He told her immediately. The baby was no bother at all.

“Aye, ye say that now,” she responded with a playful smile. “But wait till he decides them locks of yers is something to pull out of. I’m Marsali, by the way. Marsali Fraser.”

“Spencer Reid.”

“Claire said as such,” Marsali said, dumping her load into a large box. “Yer lucky she an’ the others came upon ye. Otherwise death would surely have found ye.” Dusting off her hands, Marsali checked on breakfast and pointed to a neat little pile sat near Spencer. “Ye’r skinnier than my husband, taller too. But some o’ his clothes will do ye fer now.”

Flushing with gratitude, Spencer grabbed the clothing in question and using his blankets as a shield, he managed to wriggle his way into a pair of the softest trousers he had ever worn, leg protesting just a little. Like Marsali had said, he was taller, but the boots were high enough it wasn’t noticeable. The vest that went over his shirt was soft as butter and a deep navy. The cravat, however, stopped him in his tracks.

How the hell was he supposed to tie it?!

“Oh fer heavens sake,” Marsali spluttered noticing his dilemma. “Ye swear ye never seen one before! Come here.”

Cheeks red, Spencer stood obediently while Marsali fitted the cloth about his slim throat. It wasn’t the most comfortable of accessories. Hell, he’d never liked ties either, but complaints were pointless. After all, it wasn’t the biggest of his worries.

“There ye are,” Marsali said, stepping back an admiring her handy-work. “Definitely a great deal better in clean clothes and no mud on yer face.”

He caught sight of himself in a large mirror and was stunned by how well he looked. It suited him a lot more than any modern day clothing ever had. When the door opened with a snap, Spencer jumped and cursed his nerves. He tended to be edgy, but this was ridiculous even for him! The two who entered, he recognised one as Claire, but the tall, broad man with fiery red hair, not so much and when serious blue-green eyes locked on him, he knew in an instant this was not a man to mess with.

“You’re looking a lot better, Spencer.” Claire said with a sunny smile. “Let me introduce my husband, Jaime Fraser.” She saw recognition light up those hazel eyes, but thankfully Spencer had enough sense not to say anything. “Jaime, this is Spencer Reid.”

Spencer inclined his head in a polite greeting, “Nice to meet you.”

Jaime snorted, “We’ll see how nice, lad. Marsali, if ye wouldn’t mind.”

To Spencer’s shock and amusement, Marsali was having none of it. “As it stands, I do mind. Ye’ll be havin’ yer breakfast, Jaime Fraser an’ then ye can whisper away to yer hearts content.”

Just like that, Spencer was helping set the table. Honestly, he had weirder meals.

* * *

 

_*...*...*...*_

* * *

 

As promised once breakfast was finished and cleared away, Marsali left to bring Germain for some air outside. She had mentioned her husband Fergus was away for the day, alongside Brianna, Roger and their son, all of who Spencer would meet that evening upon their return. With just the three of them, the cabin seemed awfully silent.

“You’re from the year two thousand and nineteen,” Claire stated matter of factly. Watching Spencer’s eyes dart to Jaime, she smiled. “Jaime knows everything. It wasn’t something I could keep from him.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be,” Spencer responded, his tone only slightly agitated. “Yes. I was running from a would be attacker when I heard this strange buzzing. It came from a large stone and when I touched it, the next I knew I was surrounded by...by armed natives.”

“Who was attacking ye?” Jaime asked curiously, leaning forward, taking in his every word and movement.

“That’s a long story,” Spencer admitted with a sigh. “I am SSA Dr Spencer Reid of the FBI. In pursuit of a dangerous man, the tables were turned and I was forced to run in order to protect myself until back up arrived.”

“FBI?” Jaime repeated, expression confused.

“The Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Claire explained excitedly. “It’s had several names over the years before finally settling on the FBI. They investigate all sorts...Catch some of the most dangerous of criminals.”

“The police then?” Jaime queried.

“In a manner of speaking. We just have more range to help.”

“And the Doctor? Yer a healer, like Claire?”

Spencer shook his head, “No...Not medical. I got my doctorates for other subjects.”

“Doctorates?” Claire gasped, catching onto the plural. “How many?”

“Three...As well as three BA’s.” Spencer’s cheeks flushed crimson. “I...Um...Have an IQ of one eight seven, an eidetic memory and I can read twenty thousand words per minute. It...It made it easier to get my education.”

Claire swiftly explained the unknown terms to her husband, “We would consider him a Genius.”

“I honestly do not believe intelligence can be truly measured,” Spencer corrected politely, “but yes, it would be the simplest way to categorise it.”

“So, from what I’m hearing, yer here by accident, yes?” Jaime asked, getting onto the more important topic.

“Pretty much,” Spencer said with a sheepish smile.

“Well, that’s an easy fix.”

Jaime wasn’t joking either. Once the mechanics of it were explained, it did in fact sound exceedingly simple. A jewel inside his watch had acted like a conduit and like Claire he was one of the very few who could pass through the stones.

All he had to do was repeat the process and he could go home.

 


End file.
